


wrap me around your finger, never let me go

by hailholylight



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Catholic Imagery, Choking, First Time Blow Jobs, Fishing, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sadism, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailholylight/pseuds/hailholylight
Summary: The scars on Will's body were notations of his history with Hannibal, every single one bearing a memory like a libation, a pouring of Hannibal's unique form of love into him. It had been a while since Hannibal had given him a new one.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	wrap me around your finger, never let me go

They spent the weekends up at Will's cabin, went fishing early in the morning and came back late at night. They were in silence a lot of the time while standing in the river, a lot of communication coming from small glances and touches between them. A small adjustment of Hannibal's thumb on the reel, a demonstration of how to tie a knot, etc.. Hannibal picked up on everything quickly, casting with such perfect form within five minutes of learning that Will nearly threw a rock at him.

On most weekends, they came back with a couple good-sized fish, Hannibal made a few meals while Will watched, leaning over the counter, and they talked about anything and everything until they felt it was time to go to bed. It was surprisingly normal for them, and Will knew that was intentional on Hannibal's part. It was a small offering, a small connection to Will's world that Hannibal indulged in. They didn't talk about what was in the meals that weren't fish, they didn't talk about the scars both of them shared, they didn't make any attempts to work through any of their issues. It was a pause on the hide-and-seek life they had outside of the cabin. It was their oasis. The river, and the dark wood floors, and the intimate meals at the small table Will had there— It felt like no one would ever find them, like the world outside could melt away and it wouldn't matter because Will shared this space with Hannibal.

It became clear to him on those trips, arguably more than it ever had, that he couldn't do without Hannibal. 

On this night, it was storming. Will had packed their usual poles, a tackle box full of his favorite flies and line, and it was storming. Hannibal was sitting in a large velvet armchair in front of the hearth, a book open but slack in his hand as he gazed at Will, head tilted, with such an open and tender expression (illuminated by the light of the fireplace) that the scar on Will's stomach itched, begging to reopen. Hannibal had dressed himself in a knit beige sweater. Will could feel the texture from here, as soft as flower petals. Will himself was stretched out on their U-shaped sofa, his hands behind his head, a mug on the floor next to him.

The act of being gazed upon, being watched when there was nothing to see by the man who already knew the most about him and shared parts of his mind with— It made Will's ribcage swell, made him too much for his own skin. He could feel his arms pricking with goosebumps. He looked over at Hannibal to do some gazing of his own, and he just smiled, amused that Will was trying to play the same game.

He uncrossed his legs, got up from his chair, and strolled oh, so easily over to Will. He moved to let Hannibal sit down, at first going to sit up, but then being guiding by Hannibal's hands to lay his head in his lap. He looked up at Hannibal, hesitance and doubt clear in Will's eyes. Hannibal pushed Will's hair back from his forehead with one hand, ran his fingers through it with another, lightly scratching Will's scalp in a way that slowed his heartbeat, made his neck and shoulders sensitive. He closed his eyes, washed away in the sea that was Hannibal. Every moment of hesitation was often met with gentleness from Hannibal. The same hands that twisted a man into a heart soothed every worry of Will's in one way or another.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Will's forehead. "Does it bother you? The quiet?"

"We've been in silence plenty of times."

"Not like this."

Which was true. It was rare for Will to put himself in such a position, to not deflect or find some reason to do something else. He had been more open since the events with the Red Dragon, but there were still age-old walls in place. Will had forgotten what they were hiding, so he had no idea how to tear them down.

"Do you feel safe here?" Hannibal asked, making a fist in Will's hair. It was surprisingly gentle too, more intimate than controlling.

"With you? I think so."

"In my hands."

He opened his eyes to look at him. It stretched his heart thin. "Yes."

"After everything?"

"After everything, Hannibal."

"Stay here," He said, getting up and gently placing Will's head back on the sofa cushion. He walked out of the room, leaving Will with nothing but his thoughts. He stared up at the ceiling. He really did feel safe— now anyway. He knew what Hannibal was capable of and he knew it would never be directed at him in its full capacity; Hannibal couldn't stand to live in a world without him. He could trust that despite everything (and in part because of everything) Hannibal was truly and inescapably in love with him. There was a certain protection around him as a consequence, one that Will returned in kind. They were a union.

Will didn't notice Hannibal was back in the room until he was lifting Will up off the couch and into his arms. Hannibal carried him easily across the floor, and besides the initial shock, Will couldn't find any reason to protest against it. It was hardly the first time he had carried him bridal style into a room. 

He laid Will down on the bed, and Will tracked him with his eyes as he pulled a length of rope taut in his hands. "Oh? Where'd you get that?"

Hannibal simply looked down at him with a hint of a grin. He lifted Will's hands over his head, tying them together swiftly and effectively. He lifted Will's shirt (plain, white) up rather embarrassingly, leaving him no way to cover himself. Hannibal stared with a few soft and indulgent kisses to Will's chest, sucking bright marks onto his skin while Will sighed and gasped like an open window. It felt like giving in, like breaking, like pulling himself apart for Hannibal. At every new point of contact, Will was driven deeper and deeper into a state of near-hypnosis. He would do whatever Hannibal asked. It always happened so quickly, so easily.

Hannibal lifted Will again, his hands now cradling, as gentle as air. He stood Will on his knees, letting him lean on his shoulder as he tied his hands to the deer antler light fixture that was hanging above the bed. It required a certain amount of balance to stay upright once Hannibal pulled away, plus a certain amount of vulnerability to be in front of Hannibal like this. He had been in impossibly intimate settings with him, had felt every way his hand could hold his cheek, but this— Arms raised, shirt lifted, exposed and at the whim of Hannibal's desires— Will couldn't keep his mind still. He watched Hannibal move from the bed, walk past the foot of it and to the end table. Will had to twist himself around uncomfortably and still couldn't quite see him clearly, but his heart was _aching_ to know what he was doing, to keep his eyes on him. 

He came back around to the foot of the bed, a hunting knife in hand. 

"I've given you the best of them."

Will held a curious expression, "And you want to give me a few more?"

"I want you to remember what it feels like, yes."

"To be scared of you?"

He smiled, small but knowing, "To give way to me. Completely. To lay your body in one hand, your soul in another."

Will cracked a grin of his own, "Is that how you see my scars?"

"How do you see them? As yours alone?"

Will adjusted his hands, "Memories. Permanent ink. Written by you but owned by me."

"Are you not similarly possessed by me?"

Will blinked. "Am I?"

"I can put you where I'd like you," He said, moving back onto the bed, pushing up his sleeves, "string you up, show you a knife, and yet— You've made no effort to leave. No distress. Do I not hold your attention as well as I do your heart?"

"You do." Will inhaled through his teeth, "You do."

"I would argue that makes you possessed by me."

Will certainly felt possessed by something. He wasn't sure it was quite human. 

Hannibal took the hem of Will's shirt in his hand, pulled it tight, and tore right threw it with his knife, tearing it the rest of the way with his hands. He discarded it apathetically, sending a shiver up Will's spine, then moved on to the buttons of Will's jeans. His gentleness was still in the background, but his ruthlessness took the forefront as he yanked the denim down around Will's thighs and then, with a little bit of squirming, off his legs entirely. Will felt the urge to hide, to pull away, but he closed his eyes and simply felt Hannibal's presence. He could put all of himself in Hannibal. There was no one else for him.

The first cut was on his thigh, small but stung enough for Will to gasp. It sent a rush through him, a strange mix of pain and endorphins to balance it out. Hannibal kissed his cheek, his spare hand wandering along Will's hip, down to the waistband of his briefs.

"How does it feel?" He asked, his breath hot on Will's neck, his knife, as an extension of his hand, burning into his skin.

Will couldn't find the right words, he would never be able to find the right words so long as Hannibal was crowding everything thought of his. He stumbled over a few syllables before getting out-- "I feel like Icarus touching the sun."

Hannibal dug the knife into his skin at that moment, effectively ruining the covers. A sound like a growl escaped Will, his jaw clenched, his hands in fists. It didn't burn like the first one but ached, throbbed. He let his head drop low, still trying to support himself on his knees but feeling his legs shake with the effort. Hannibal set the knife down next to him, and held Will's face in his hands, smearing blood onto his cheek.

He lifted his face and looked him straight in the eye, "How does touching the sun feel, Will?"  
Will exhaled in a quick pant, feeling the blood rush down his side, "It feels-- God, it feels like light and... burning."

"Pain."

He nodded, "Pain, but also," a moan escaped him, a different sort of ache forming, "so much more. So much more."

Hannibal dipped down to his neck, a close-lipped smile wide across his face, "Wonderful."

He slid his fingers across the gash, painting them red, and dragged them up across Will's torso. He drew swirls that looked like oceans, gentle curves decorating him, one after another until Will's entire chest and stomach became their own masterpiece. Hannibal finally lifted his fingers up and rested them on Will's bottom lip. He could taste the iron in his own blood; he could taste it how Hannibal does, as a delicacy. He opened his mouth and Hannibal's fingers fit perfectly in the cup of his soft tongue. He let his eyes fall close. The feeling was unlike anything— perfectly intimate, loving, but so marinated in mutilation, the contrast only serving to heighten all of Will's senses.

After his fingers were more or less clean, Hannibal moved to kneel behind Will, his hands now holding his hips. His breath was quiet and had an unreal, ghostly quality to it. It nearly pushed Will over the edge on its own. "Think of it as a gift. All truly beautiful things hurt."

He slipped his hand under the only remaining piece of fabric covering Will, which earned him a loud gasp and a jerk of Will's hips. The pain still stung, but it was nearly completely crowded out by the rush of pleasure. Hannibal moved his hand slowly, steadily. Will felt an unspoken agreement between them. He relaxed as best he could, took deep, long breaths, and basked in every sensation Hannibal was giving him. Hannibal's free arm was wrapped tightly around Will's waist, pulling him closer, keeping Will against his hips. They fit so well together it was remarkable they spent so much time as two distinct persons. Will wanted to reach around and pull Hannibal's clothes off in the way that was done to him, feel how perfectly their skin would line up when pressed together.   
He was panting shamelessly at this point, Hannibal's hand moving up to wrap around his neck, tilt his head back to rest on Hannibal's shoulder. He was dangerously close, drowning in each and every wave of pleasure that crashed against his shores, gasping all all the while. The moment right before orgasm was the moment Hannibal removed his hands from Will entirely. Will nearly broke the light with how hard the yanked himself forward, nearly on the verge of tears. "Please" escaped his lips before he knew what he was saying. He could practically hear the smug smirk on Hannibal's face.

He slowly reintroduced one hand on Will's side, covering the wound, placed just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. Will winced but welcomed any contact he has with Hannibal. Pressure also returned to Will's throat, holding him up and claiming him. Hannibal tightened his grip cooly, as though more curious about how much Will could handle than concerned about how well he could breathe. Will got lost in the feeling all over again. His eyes rolled back, his body slack except in the places Hannibal was supporting, his legs weak and shaking. The sensation of the blood, now dripping down his legs, was felt throughout his entire body. For a second, as Hannibal tightened more and more, Will could hardly gasp for any air at all— And then, once again, Hannibal completely let go of him.

Will's sob ripped through him, echoed in the air. He hunched forward as much as he could, feeling tears, heat and salt and _want_ , slide down his face. Hannibal's only point of contact was at Will's hands, now aching. He pulled them down from the antlers but didn't untie him in the slightest. A wave of relief pushed its way through Will's arms and shoulders regardless. He gripped Will's hair and pushed his head down towards his hips, all without a word, but with a very clear intention. Will fumbled with his waistband, resorting to aiding his hands with his teeth in an attempt to pull it down. Hannibal clicked his tongue, then pulled them down himself. Will flushed, warm with shame. Hannibal didn't even remove his briefs, instead, he made wonderful use of the front opening. Will pulled back just slightly, but Hannibal kept a tight hold on his hair, pushing Will back, showing a clear indication of who was in control of the situation. It thrilled him. To be so out of control, at the mercy of Hannibal and whatever he wanted to do to him— He felt perfected.

Will was suddenly confronted by his lack of experience with this sort of thing, and the smell of his own blood and the feeling of Hannibal's fingers in his hair were only serving to make his whole mind go blank. While on the edge of panic, Hannibal held Will face gently, with his the tips of his fingers resting in the dip behind Will's jaw. He opened his mouth and accepted Hannibal like his first communion— worried and hesitant, but willing to let the divine into his body. He was awarded a quiet, pleasurable sigh, one which only spurred him on. Soon, he was taking as much of Hannibal as he could, feeling the weight at the back of his throat, his eyes watering, but his mind only focused on welcoming Hannibal into him. His hands were going numb, as were his feet; he was hunched over, folded in on himself, blood sticky and clotting between his stomach and his leg, now nothing but an extension of Hannibal, nothing but his servitude.

Hannibal led the rhythm once Will got accustomed, pulling him by the hair slowly up and then shoving him down. Once again, air became a rarity, a small and inconsistent pleasure that was only present when Hannibal allowed it. A collection of sighs and low moans lingered in the air, spit and blood mixing and making a mess of both of them. Hannibal pulled Will up, allowing a long inhale and decadent exhale and separating him from the mixture now spread across Hannibal's hips and stomach. He tilted his head back, guiding him backwards until he was flat on the bed, Hannibal now intimidating above him.

He moved halfway off the bed, but only for a moment to squeeze lubricant on his fingers. Without very much warning, he returned and pushed his fingers inside Will-- Only one at first, but enough to make Will arch, reach and stretch for the sun, his hands ending up weakly pushing against Hannibal's chest. He pinned Will's hands above his head without hesitation, pushing in a second finger. Will whined like a pained dog, his eyes closed tight, his hands alternating between flat palms, reaching fingers and fists, nails digging into his skin. He panted and squirmed, begged for nothing in particular. Hannibal simply leaned down and laid the sweetest possible kiss to Will's forehead. Then his mouth. His tongue, surprisingly, was not forked, but soft against Will's own. The taste of iron had returned, but they held it together.

This acceptance was not akin to communion, but to confession. Will felt scraped raw, clean, a mound of clay to be built up to Hannibal's liking. Hannibal moved into him and Will made up his mind that he would always have room for Hannibal. He rested his face in the crook of Will's neck, rocking slowly into him, his hand in Will's hair while the other was keeping him perfectly pinned. It didn't take long for Will to find that edge again, to be begging Hannibal to slow down so he didn't tumble over. Hannibal, in some alternate universe, might've listened. In the present, it only served to make his movement faster, rougher. Tears pricked Will's eyes, and as Hannibal kissed them away, he sent pain and pleasure all at once through Will's whole body. He dived off that cliff, practically screamed in Hannibal's ear. He shook and gasped and swore like a demon out of hell, like a hidden circle of the inferno where the beautiful was so intrinsically tied to the painful that neither could exist without their union.

Hannibal tumbled shortly after him, whispering Will's name like a prayer, a good luck charm to ward off evil spirits. He felt no pain himself, Will was sure, be delighted in the mere aspect of it. He slowed, his hands no longer tight and desperate on Will, but back to their loving default. He untied Will's hands soon after and brought them up to his lips, the first real sensation Will had felt in them.

Hannibal rolled to his side, pulling Will close. They were both a mess, Will most likely moreso, both sweating, panting, covered in various substances. The cut on Will's side had already stopped bleeding for the most part, and there wasn't any hurry from either of them to move, nowhere to be and nothing to do, so they laid content side-by-side. Hannibal turned his head and, with a hand on the back of Will's head, pressed a final kiss right between his eyebrows. Will settled against his shoulder, his mind calmer than it had ever been. 

**Author's Note:**

> well. hannibal has officially turned my brain into literal worms. i hoped you enjoyed, lol. i'm writing this note at 2am, eyes stinging from staring at my screen for so long, but i'm still super wired. i really loved writing this fic. in fact, it only took me two days to finish it. i hope you had as much fun with it as i did. 
> 
> i would be remiss to not acknowledge the artist that inspired this fic: hannigwam on twitter with their painting captioned "Never forget who gave you the best of them" which also directly inspired a few lines in this fic. please do go check them out if you haven't. <3<3<3


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